rare. In her strong box there remained little
money, and the estate she owned in a distant part of Italy might as
well have been sunk in the sea for all the profit it could yield her.
True, she had objects of value, such as were daily accepted by Bessas
in exchange for corn and pork; but, if it came to that extremity, could
not better use be made of the tough-skinned commander? Heliodora had no
mind to support herself on bread and pork whilst food more appetising
might still be got.

It was all but dark. She rang a hand-bell and was answered by a
maidservant.

'Has Sagaris returned yet?' she asked impatiently.

'Lady, not yet.'

Heliodora kept silence for a moment, then bade the girl bring her a
lamp. A very small lamp was set upon the table, and as she glanced at
its poor flame, Heliodora remembered that the store of oil was nearly
at an end.

Again she had sat alone for nearly half an hour, scarcely stirring, so
intent was she on the subject of her thoughts, when a light footfall
sounded without, and the curtain at the door was raised. She turned and
saw a dark countenance, which smiled upon her coldly.

'Where have you been?' broke angrily from her lips.

'Hither and thither,' was the softly insolent reply, as Sagaris let the
curtain fall behind him and stepped forward to the brazier, over which
he held out his hands to warm them.

By his apparel, he might have been mistaken for a noble.

Nominally he had for a year held the office of steward to Heliodora.
That his functions were not, as a matter of fact, all comprised under
that name was well known to all in the house, and to some beyond its
walls.

'Were you at the Circus?' she next inquired, using the large hood to
avoid his gaze without seeming to do so.

'I was there, gracious lady. Not, of course, in such an exalted place
as that in which I saw _you_.'

'I did not choose that place,' said Heliodora, her voice almost
conciliatory. 'Being sent for, I could not refuse to go.'

Sagaris set a stool near to his mistress, seated himself, and looked up
into her face. She, for an instant, bore it impatiently, but of a
sudden her countenance changed, and she met the gaze with a
half-mocking smile.

'Is this one of your jealous days?' she asked, with what was meant for
playfulness, though the shining of her eyes and teeth in the lamplight
gave the words rather an effect of menace.

'Perhaps it is,' answered the Syrian. 'What did Bessas say to you?'